The Sparring Yard - (Christopher Paolini, Inheritance Tetralogy)
by benr008
Summary: An additional chapter for the second book in the series, "Eldest," set during the period of Eragon and Saphira's training in Du Weldenvarden. Written as more of an introductory piece to the series for those who haven't read any of the books.


"The Sparring Yard"

Dusk was just beginning to set as Eragon rested at the corner of the sparring enclosure. Yet another fourteen hours of training with Master Oromis had left him frustrated and sore, while the old scar on his back, extending from his left hip to the opposite shoulder, ached and throbbed. The sounds of clashing weaponry emanating from nearby elves locked in fierce competition fell painfully upon his ears. Yet, he was not exhausted half so much from fighting as he was from the arduous degree of concentration that he had been required to maintain for such an extended period of time.

A refreshing breeze drifted out of the deeper regions of the Du Weldenvarden forest, cooling the sweat upon his brow and bringing him a heavenly, albeit brief, respite. Looking up across the railing he saw Saphira gliding down onto a small stone ridge 30 feet away, her powerful blue wings beating to slow her descent. Upon alighting, she folded them inwards and shifted her weight to her haunches, turning her gaze to meet his with an air of compassionate, watchful awareness. He could feel her mental presence wash over his mind, melding with his emotions in a calming flow. So strong was their connection that no exchange of words was necessary to understand what the other was feeling – the pulses of their consciousness's beat one and the same.

Her deep, mellifluous voice rang clear in his head:

 _Once again you go dangerously beyond what is required of you, young one. Will you not grant yourself the rest your body needs? Oromis has warned you against overexertion after our lessons_ _have finished. What do you seek to gain by this?_

He replied in identical fashion: _Saphira, you know why. I need as much training as I can get before the Varden calls on us for help, which very well could be at any day now. Besides, you get longer sessions with Glaedr than I do with Oromis. I need to fill my extra time effectively._

 _Glaedr teaches at a different pace, Eragon. And do you really think straining and exhausting yourself against opponents who are superior to you is the most efficient use of your time? Eragon, please, at least retire for today. The night is nearly come, and we must be up again with the first light._

Eragon shook his head firmly. _Better to practice against them while I have the opportunity to do so than face a real enemy unprepared_. Saphira merely snorted in retort.

 _Fine. I see no point in trying to convince you yet again. But don't be long this time._ And she proceeded to preoccupy herself with cleaning her enormous talons and shimmering scales.

Eragon smiled to himself, but knew at heart that what she spoke was true. Deep down, it was not for just for a want of practice, but a desire to validate the small remnant of pride he had left that compelled him to pitch his strength as a swordsman over and over again against the swift elf warriors. In the past, he had grown accustomed to besting his human foes, but the elves were of an entirely different caliber. Nevertheless, he refused to allow himself to be seen as cowardly or inferior in any way.

Across the clearing, a disdainful call suddenly shot towards him: "Come now human rider, you cannot be tired already? How can you expect to hold your own in battle if you give in to weakness from such trivial fatigue?" Eragon stiffened. The voice was unmistakably Valkor's. He rose from his kneeling position, muscles screaming in retaliation to being roused once again, and turned to face the elf.

Eragon had become used to various insults over the preceding months from some of the other elves like Vanir and Ska'nadia, but Valkor's particular brand of condescension always struck directly to the nerve. He could already feel his blood beginning to roil.

Saphira 's voice echoed warningly in his head: _Steady, Eragon. Watch yourself._ But prideful contempt had already taken a hold.

"On the contrary Valkor, I doubt that you could last half a day's training as a human," he replied. "It is easy to accuse those who are not born with the same heightened abilities. Your arrogance reflects shamefully on the good name of your people." A number of elves cleaning their swords on the outside of the ring looked up at these words.

The elf's deriding sneer quickly faded, only to be replaced with a malevolent stare. "Watch your tongue boy. You have not lived long enough on this earth to make such accusations." Despite being young by elvish standards, Valkor was still well over 100 years old.

Eragon's eyes narrowed while he gripped the hilt of Zar'roc tightly, the red blade gleaming in the evening light. "I don't need to live over a century to perceive affectation clearly."

At this, his opponent snarled and angrily ripped his sword from its sheath in one fluid, lightning motion. Valkor was neither the wisest nor the most eloquent of elves, and Eragon's words had only succeeded in provoking him to rage. The elf traversed the length of the ring in mere seconds, barely leaving Eragon enough time to block the first jarring lunge.

Valkor then proceeded to execute a furious combination of blows. The two warriors flew around the field, blades whirling and weaving fantastical patterns in the air. Eragon was an exceptional swordsman by human standards, but he knew he could not hope to match the elf's superior strength and agility. Suddenly, Eragon experienced a sinking realization and fear that the fight was not a training exercise. Valkor was not letting up with his strokes, and each one seemed to land against his sword faster and stronger than the last. In horror, Eragon realized that Valkor was out for blood, and in his present depleted condition it was all he could do to keep his opponent's weapon from piercing his flesh.

He could feel Saphira's consciousness growing increasingly apprehensive and scared in the back of his mind as she too grasped the reality of the situation. Her body grew tense as she slowly began to lift herself off her rock. _Erago_ n… _enough. This cannot go on, he's only fighting to wound you._

He acknowledged both her admonishment and his own foolishness in trying to toy with the elf: "Valkor!" he gasped as he parried a sweep aimed at his waist. "Stop! You're out of control!" But the elf was not listening, and struck again and again in response with increased rapidity. Now driven to desperation by the natural instinct for self-preservation, Eragon leapt to the far southern corner of the ring, spinning around at the last moment to kneel with his blade angled downward. Valkor was directly at his heels and, perceiving his enemy's feigned move as a momentary lapse of weakness, he fell for Eragon's trap. Valkor stabbed with the full weight of his body, only to find his sword redirected and pinned against the ground by Eragon's. From his kneeling position, Eragon then leaped with as much force as he could muster, tackling his foe directly in the midriff and wrestling him to the ground.

It was a dirty move that went against all traditional forms of sparring etiquette, but Eragon knew he had no other option. Struggling and grunting, he blindly attempted to wrench Valkor's arms above and behind the shoulder socket, but to little avail. The elf easily manipulated his weight and threw him far towards the opposite end of the field. Eragon twisted in midair in an attempt to prepare for a roll, but seized as the scar on his back suddenly flared up in excruciating pain. He fell to the earth with a sickening crunch, and began to writhe uncontrollably. Muddled, flashing colours appeared before his eyes, and a screaming ring blasted in his ears. He fought for breath, but his lungs and diaphragm would not function properly. Every muscle in his body went rigid, and foam began to leak from the corner of his mouth.

Seeing his chance, Valkor snatched his sword from the ground and leapt ten feet into the air, screaming with renewed anger at Eragon's disregard of conduct. At the same moment, shrieks rang out from the onlookers as a deafening roar pierced the sky. A white-hot tongue of fire appeared out of nowhere to ignite the ground between the two warriors. Valkor fell short of the flames just in time to look up and see the hulking figure of Saphira descend from the air to land with an earthshaking thud in front of her Rider, wings extended to shield his helpless form. Her lips were curled up to reveal razor sharp, ivory coloured teeth, while her muscular form rippled beneath her dark blue scales. A low, deep growl emanated from her elongated throat, while her glowing yellow eyes fixated on Valkor. _Take one step closer, and you die where you stand,_ she echoed menacingly into his head. Valkor's face paled, and he stumbled in an attempt to scramble backwards. Upon reaching the fence, he bolted into a full out run, trying to put as much distance as he possibly could between himself and the dragon. To Eragon, it all appeared an incomprehensible blur of colour and sound, and he quickly lost consciousness as the remaining onlookers fled from the scene.

When Eragon finally returned to his senses, all he could see was darkness. He remained still for a minute or so, waiting for his eyes to adjust before weakly extending his thoughts outward.

 _Saphira?_ He called. _Are you there?_

Her gentle, familiar presence washed over him. _I am here._

And suddenly, a veil seemed to be slowly drawn from his eyes, and the soft light of the moon and stars illuminated his view. He realized he was on his back, and that the reason he had been unable to see was because Saphira had drawn her wing over him for protection. He couldn't remember why at the present moment, but knowing she was near calmed him, and he allowed his muscles to relax. Neither spoke for a long period of time.

At length, he remarked softly: _It happened again, didn't it._ She remained quiet, but dipped her head down slightly in confirmation. Eragon let out a heavy sigh.

 _Thank you, Saphira._ _I'm so sorry_. He felt her compassionate warmth spread through his body, but still detected small, bitter notes of resentment and fear. She paused, as though to say something in response, but felt his deep shame creep through her consciousness in return. She turned her head up towards the sky.

 _Put it behind you, little one. It is high time we returned home. Can you fly?_

 _Yes, I think so._ He winced as he gingerly picked himself and his belongings off the ground, but was relieved to feel that his scar no longer seared in response to the motion. Saphira lowered her long neck, allowing Eragon to swing one leg over and shuffle back into the saddle nestled between her shoulder blades. Once in place, she unfolded her leathery wings and launched herself from the ground, climbing swiftly into the cool night air.

Eragon felt the wind rush against his body, refreshing all of his senses in a familiar, invigorating wave. As Saphira leveled off they were able to see the entire length of Du Weldenvarden extending in every direction, the lights of Ellesmera (the elf-city) glowing not three miles away to the northwest. Saphira banked slowly to the east towards the Crags of Tel'Naeir, in which direction lay their tree-house dwelling.

For a long while the only sound they could hear was the continued rush of the wind, and the powerful beat of Saphira's wings. The moon shone full and bright over the seemingly endless treetops, making the forest appear like an undulating, dark green sea. Eragon gazed around at the clear sky, allowing the air to completely fill his lungs with every breath. A sudden sickening feeling of overwhelming powerlessness suddenly overcame him and without warning, he retched over Saphira's side. After catching his breath again, he lay back with his head towards her tail, but exploded into almost immediately into venting his anger and frustration.

 _I feel so weak. I don't even know if I can carry on like this_. _I'm a mere shadow of a warrior compared to the elves, and they're the fiercest fighters in Alagaësia. How can I expect to defeat even one of Galbatorix's hordes of Urgals with my condition always hitting me at the most unexpected times? Why does the burden of this war fall to rest on our shoulders? The first rider and dragon in thousands of years…why did it have to be us?_

 _Eragon,_ Saphira replied: You _are tired and suffering partial delirium after your seizure. Just be still._

He wanted to argue back but could not find the strength to do so. A lump formed in his throat. "I miss Garrow." he whispered, to Saphira's surprise. "Why did he have to die so unjustly because of this war? Why is it all happening now?"

Another silence ensued, and Eragon closed his eyes only to discover hot liquid warmth escaping from them.

Saphira slowed the pace of her wings.

In under an hour, they had reached the landing of their home. Saphira touched down softly on the worn wood, and Eragon proceeded to step down off her back, using her legs for support. Before they headed inside however, Saphira paused, and said gently:

 _Eragon, please listen to me._

 _The only shameful mistakes are the ones we do not attempt to learn from_. _And the friends we have lost will only have died in vain at the moment we refuse to embrace each new day that we live. All creatures are given a burden to carry throughout their lives, whether it be small or big, private or well known. It is neither prudent nor useful to question why – all that matters is how we choose to bear it. In embracing our burden in spite of uncertainty or the potential for failure, we serve a purpose much greater than ourselves Eragon, and honour the memory of those who died fighting for the same causes. Although we still have much to learn and overcome, many of the people of Alagaësia look to us as a symbol of strength. Do not rob them of their newfound hope by giving up now._

She nuzzled him gently with her nose. _If anything young one, be grateful that you do not face this task alone._

Eragon smiled as an unexpected feeling of peace settled over him. He realized how much she had grown over the past few months – something he hadn't been able to observe before. As they shuffled inside together, he thought deeply on her words, and fell into a tranquil, undisturbed sleep

Although training over the subsequent weeks did prove to be progressively more difficult, Eragon faced every new challenge with a renewed inner resoluteness and determination. His spirits lifted, and he accepted humiliation and defeat with grace, instead opposed hubris. And much to Saphira's pleasant surprise, he spent much less time down at the sparring ring than he ever had before.


End file.
